


Pyrite Rings

by Harmonic_Wisp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Day 1: Hospitals, Day ?: ?, F/F, Mentions of Mental Disorder, fleurmioneweek2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26281162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harmonic_Wisp/pseuds/Harmonic_Wisp
Summary: Fleur really should have paid more attention to what she was doing instead of flirting with the pretty girl. Hermione really only wanted to do her job. Neither got what they expected to in the end, and sometimes... that's alright.#FleurmioneWeek2020 Day 1 Hospitals and Day ?.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Comments: 29
Kudos: 218
Collections: Fleurmione Week 2020





	1. Only fools...

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, just my dumb sense of humor and my poor attempts at sass.
> 
> A Fleurmione Week 2020 entry.
> 
> Day 1: Hospitals

Normally deft fingers clumsily maneuvered the pair of lock picks into place as the blonde owner of said appendages cursed with every fumble of the stainless steel tools. 

“ _Open the door!_ They said. _Should be easy for a cursebreaker._ They lauded. Ha!” The clearly irritated woman gritted her teeth as she accidentally jammed the somewhat unfamiliar tools into the lock, and thus had reset the tumblers within the mechanism _again._ A heavy growl of irritation escaped her for the umpteenth time that day. “This is far below my pay grade!”

Which was only _partially_ true. Fleur Delacour was a veteran cursebreaker under the employ of Gringotts Bank. She was meant to raid tombs for cursed artifacts or remove unsightly hexes from the vaults of clients that were no longer among the living. 

She was _not_ paid to break into the offices of deceased former employees because they forgot to give anyone else the key before they kicked the bucket. Alas, the goblins were still technically her bosses so she had little choice in the matter. Which wouldn’t be as terrible of a request if the damned door wasn’t warded against the simplest of unlocking spells. 

So muggle lock picks it was. 

Not that Fleur was any good with them. She had learned to use them _years_ ago as part of her apprenticeship, but it wasn’t exactly often that she got to exercise the skill. Hence the fruitless hour she had spent on her knees in front of this door, her fingers cramped from their extended hold on the thin metal tools, and her nearly empty well of patience obvious to any who saw her. 

“You’re not doing so well, are you?” 

Fleur effusively cursed in French and whipped around, and her panicked eyes landed on a head of chestnut curls and a smile heavy with amusement that was poorly hidden behind a single dainty hand.

“... Hermione! What are you doing over here?” Whatever irritation she felt had melted away at the sight of the younger witch. They had originally met years ago amidst the Triwizard Tournament held at Hogwarts during the French witch’s seventh year. The two had become acquainted and had even shared a table at the library on occasion, but after the competition had concluded they had only seen each other in passing over the years. Thankfully, Fleur’s mastery over the English language had progressed by leaps and bounds since then. At the very least, she could adequately pronounce the _H_ in Hermione’s name now. 

The mirth that had come over the younger woman had finally subsided enough that the brunette dropped her impromptu cover, which allowed Fleur to finally see the soft smile that was previously hidden. With the light that came in from the windows to illuminate Hermione from behind, Fleur was struck by the odd thought that the muggleborn possibly had a touch of Veela blood. 

Either that or she was being rudely reminded by the twinge in her stomach that her workaholic ass was still single. _‘Ah yes, here’s a smart and beautiful woman giggling at you. Let’s not screw this up, shall we?’_

Thankfully, Hermione was unaware of Fleur’s social panic and gestured for a door further down the hallway. “I’ve got an appointment with Griphook regarding my accounts. The hospital was having a rare slow day so I figured I’d take advantage and head out early for once.” 

The part-Veela blinked and finally took note of the ensemble of nondescript green hospital robes on the other woman. The memory of a prior conversation ran through her mind.

_“... I was thinking of going into the medical field. If I could manage it, at least.”_

“Oh! So you decided to be a Healer after all. Congratulations!” The cursebreaker could feel her ego shoot up at the sight of the faint flush on the brunette’s face. 

“You remembered that? Well, thank you.” It took a considerable amount of Fleur’s self control to not _coo_ at the bashful expression on the younger witch. Outwardly at least. Mentally, the part-Veela was in the midst of screaming about how cute Hermione was. The brunette on the other hand furrowed her brows at Fleur’s hands as they continued to twitch the metal tools in place. “Shouldn’t you pay attention to that? I don’t know much about picking locks, but I’d imagine it’s rather difficult.”

The blonde just let out an unlady like snort at the comment; as if she hadn’t just struggled with the damnable muggle tools for the last hour. 

“Oh, please! I can practically do this in my sleep.” As if to prove her point, the seasoned cursebreaker continued to fiddle with the surprisingly sensitive tumblers in the door’s lock without even looking at it. 

“Um, Fleur-?”

So it was a surprise to absolutely no one that Fleur hadn’t seen the soft glow of previously undetectable runes that had suddenly appeared around the keyhole. Or that she got thrown back so fast and hard that the last thing she registered as her head cracked against the marble floor was Hermione’s terrified and surprised face.

_‘Wow, I really need to work on my pick-up game.’_

And then the world went black.

-oOo-

If the first thing one perceived about the world after one abruptly blacked out is the overwhelming presence of antiseptic, then it’s more than likely that someone just royally fucked up. At least, that was Fleur’s first hand opinion when it came to the subject. It hadn’t mattered that St. Mungo’s was a first rate _wizarding_ hospital, they still somehow managed to capture the pervasive smell of disinfectant prevalent in their muggle counterparts. The moment that the tell tale scent had hit her, the accidental patient had let out a groan that was one part annoyance and another part a realization that her head felt like she had attempted to repeatedly headbutt a pregnant erumpent. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” 

It was merely due to reflex that Fleur’s eyes tore open as fast as they did at the sound of that recently familiar voice. Which in hindsight was quite a mistake because she only got a quick glimpse of Hermione in her lime green hospital robes before the entire room had begun to spin around her.  
  
 _“Merde!_ ” Her eyelids slammed shut as quickly as they had opened, and it was only the feeling of firm arms that held her steady that made her realize that she had also sat up in her earlier haste. 

“Yeah, that wasn’t the most advised thing you could’ve done…”

“... Hermione?” Even with her vision firmly entrenched behind the safe walls of her eyelids, Fleur could feel the wave of vertigo subside enough for her to risk a single eyed look. The brunette gave her tentative glance a grimace in return. Just like the bed ridden woman had figured, the healer had quickly traveled from her spot at the door to Fleur’s side in that single moment. 

“Hey there Fleur, been a while, hasn’t it?” At the poor joke, Fleur opened her second eye so she could adequately pout at the British witch. Internally, she struggled to maintain the facade of disappointment as the stream of giggles escaped her brunette captor. “Okay, yes that was a terrible joke. Sorry. How are you feeling?”

“Better now that I’m in great hands.” Fleur completed the quip with an exaggerated waggle of her eyebrows. The blonde could see the exasperation in the younger woman’s eyes, but was surprised when she was gently coaxed back onto the bed instead of dropped like an expired bag of potatoes. “Oh, I must be in worse shape than I thought if you’re being gentle after a line like _that_.” 

It was immediately after she said that when Fleur caught the oddest flicker or twitch in Hermione’s facial expression. But faster than she could process it, it was gone and the teasing glint was back in the healer’s eyes. 

“ _Please,_ I’ve got patients over a hundred that regularly deliver better pickup lines than that. And here I thought love was in your _genes_ , Delacour.” Hermione proceeded to cast a few diagnostic charms on the blonde. “And you’re fine. Just a concussion caused by getting thrown into a wall and hitting your head. How did you miss those original security runes anyway?”

At this, Fleur blushed but it was more from embarrassment rather than the presence of a rather adorable brunette. Truth be told she _had_ done a preliminary scan for any traps or spells on the door, especially once she realized that a simple _Alohomora_ was inadequate. Anything overt or dangerous was immediately removed or dispelled, but whatever had thrown her back was likely buried so deep under everything else that she had missed it. It was a rookie mistake and Fleur knew it.

Hermione likely knew it too. 

“I was… a little distracted.” 

“Well, _‘distracted’_ would’ve been a lot worse had I not been there. You took quite the blow to the head, Fleur.” The clinical admonishment was hard to swallow, but the blonde still noted the hint of unprofessional worry that hid behind the hard tone. As if to escape the longer lecture she sensed that had loomed before her, as well as the guilt she felt for being the cause of that worry, Fleur interjected just as the healer opened her mouth again.

“Then let me thank you, truly.” The cursebreaker tried to convey as much of the gratitude that she felt in her expression. The pain that lingered in her head and the brief memory she had when she cracked her head against the wall reminded her that things really could have been far worse. Especially because that hallway of offices she was stationed at had sporadic foot traffic at best, who knew when she would’ve been found otherwise? 

“You really don’t have to thank me for anything. I was just doing my job, no one stops being a healer just because you’re off the clock.” 

“Nonsense! I pay back my debts, even as non-existent as you perceive them to be. And before you think I’m offering you anything crazy or over the top, I was thinking maybe coffee? You and me?” The small traces of _Veelan magic_ in the French witch’s blood reacted to her slightly inappropriate attempt to woo her savior. Fleur soon felt the faintest trace of her thrall escape her as it caressed the brunette in the gentlest of unseen touches. The increased flush on olive cheeks proved that the healer was not as unaffected as she liked. _‘Why yes, my genetics are superb, mon amie. Though my skills are not half bad either.'_

As if to shake off the inappropriate exchange between patient and healer, Hermione gave Fleur her most professional look of unbiased authority. Which in turn was ruined by the smattering of pink still on her face. 

“Look, how about you ask me again after you’re healed and out of trouble, alright? I don’t make a habit of going out for coffee with my patients.” A smile broke through the serious veneer before the brunette could help it. “But with my friends? Sure, why not.” 

Fleur agreed, though she ignored the subtle quip about friendship. The hint of chemistry between them was already quite overt, the part-Veela was sure that after a proper date between them that she could convince the younger woman of it as well. 

She just needed to heal up and not get hurt for a while. How hard could that be?

-oOo-

It was a lot harder than she thought. 

Thanks to the fast track that was _magical medicine_ , Fleur had been out of the hospital in a few short hours and with barely an echo of the headache she had when she woke up. The next day found her already back at work and on another assignment, though this one was further from that damnable hallway and instead down in the vaults where she was used to. The cursebreaker hadn’t been informed of what happened to that door after the accident, and truth be told she was a little embarrassed by her blunder and thus hadn’t bothered to inquire further into it. 

If no one else was going to bring up her mistake, why should she? 

Instead the French witch was tasked with a regular patrol of the mid-tier vaults. It was more of a routine task that required her to check if any of the outermost wards on the individual vaults she walked by had begun to fray or misbehave, but it was certainly a lot better than _muggle lock picking_. And thanks to the fact that there were a ludicrous amount of clients with repositories on the mid-tier, the task was often done in pairs so this time she wasn’t alone. 

Even if she was paired with a trainee she hadn’t ever remembered seeing before. Which wasn’t _too_ unusual, it wasn’t the first time her bosses had thrown someone at her to train. The poor wizard had such a decidedly _average_ look and feel to him that Fleur _had_ likely seen him prior, but had forgotten about him almost immediately. 

Which was somewhat bad because he apparently was so dull that Fleur had already forgotten her mentee’s name. Even worse was that she was feeling too stubborn to ask for it again and had instead had settled on simply avoiding any mention of it for the rest of their shift.

Their six hour shift together.

_‘Merde, maybe that concussion from yesterday did more damage than we thought?’_

Which now that Fleur thought about it, was probably unlikely. Not with _Hermione Granger_ of all people as her healer. They had only shared a single school year together back in ‘94 and it had only been the girl’s _fourth year_ but even back then the Triwizard contestant had heard whispers of the muggleborn’s aptitude and genius. She had no doubt that had the British witch been of age and also inclined, she would’ve been Hogwarts’ representative in the tournament instead of Cedric Diggory. 

Thoughts of the brilliant brunette occupied a mind that was still flustered over a subordinate’s missing name. That was the excuse Fleur later told herself when she only caught the tail end of _what’s-his-name’s_ mistake with a flagrant yet malicious ward. 

“ _Nom de Dieu_ , get down!” Before she could really register what she was doing, her reflexes already had the new guy tackled out of the way and a _protego_ partially formed at her back. The witch could feel the incomplete shield hold, which was the only reassurance she could find as the searing pain encompassed her from the explosion that ensued. 

Unimaginable pain notwithstanding, the blackout that had followed was wholly unnecessary. At least in Fleur’s professional opinion.

-oOo-

“You’re an idiot.” 

And that was apparently Hermione’s _professional_ opinion. Which was hurtful when one considered that they were yet again in a _healer-patient_ situation with each other. Alongside the usual medical gown, the cursebreaker had several potion-soaked bandages wrapped around her upper back and neck. The exasperated woman who observed her from behind the clipboard that presumably held the blonde’s current medical chart also checked on the tautness of the cloth wrappings as she simultaneously lectured the older witch. Fleur threw her a sheepish smile, even as she winced at the sting that permeated from the multitude of burns on her body.

“Hopefully still an appealing idiot?”

The part-Veela wasn’t sure if it was healthy for anyone to roll their eyes so hard, but Hermione managed it without any self inflicted damage.

“An idiot nonetheless.” The hard look she gave softened a little when the apparent _“idiot”_ winced when the healer lightly pulled on a section of bandages that were bound too tightly. Hermione went about unraveling them so she could re-do the bindings so they did less to aggravate the sensitive skin underneath. “Still though, your quick reflexes likely saved that man’s life. And while the area affected was large, the entirety of the injury was superficial and should be mostly gone by the morning.” 

“I _definitely_ owe you more than coffee now.” 

Hermione tutted at the other woman, but Fleur could see the slight twitch of a smile at the corner of her lips. The bed bound woman settled for an internal dance of glee. 

“Don’t celebrate just yet - I was serious about not dating patients. Maybe lay off the injuries and I’ll consider it.” The wry grin that the brunette shot her was enough to stop the normally self assured woman in her tracks. Not for the first time did the part-Veela question if the muggleborn witch had a touch of siren ancestry herself. The look wasn’t overly sexy or coquettish for the sake of being overt. Instead, it was a softness that started at the eyes and was highlighted by the faintest touch of teasing. It was less of a sharp word of endearment and more like a blanket that emanated _warmth_ and _safety_. 

So either Hermione Granger had a drop of creature blood in her lineage or the flecks of gold that the blonde swore were at the very edges of her vision when she looked hard enough were the result of some compounded spell damage. 

The alternative was that Fleur Delacour was _smitten_ , but she refused to even address that tidbit until she had managed to take the brunette out on at _least_ one date. Which was easy.

Fleur just had to not end up in the hospital again. 

And in spite of the fact that there _were_ obvious risks to being a cursebreaker, especially when one worked in as active of a perilous environment as Gringotts, the rate of personal injury was not as high as one might have thought. At least, that’s what Fleur told herself when not even two days later she was rushed in for an antidote because she was nicked by a _literal_ poison tipped arrow. This was due to some fool from the 15th century that had thought that muggle styled traps were in vogue at the time. 

“What was he even protecting that he needed to install twelve actual _crossbows_ in his vault?” Fleur couldn’t even blame Hermione for the incredulous tone. It was only luck that out of all the people present at the time of the vault’s first opening in nearly five hundred years, only she had been hit by the volley of projectiles that was unleashed upon them. If it wasn’t for the fact that the bolt that had hit her had been laced with poison, the cursebreaker wouldn’t have actually bothered with the trip to St. Mungos to deal with the tiny cut. 

The reminder of what it all actually amounted to in the end actually induced a fresh wave of irritation in the blonde.

“ _Mincemeat Pie Recipes_ , if you can believe it. I don’t even like the stupid treat!” 

Fleur was quite tempted to check the actual statistics related to her career path, because soon after _that_ incident she had to be floated into the ER for a dose of _Skelegro_ for her leg due to a curse that had backfired.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise!”

“Fleur, you’re literally missing every third bone in your right leg from the hips down.” 

Or when after _that_ , a client had brought in a tetchy artifact that he had claimed had originated from _Antarctica._ Of course it wasn’t actually an “artifact” and was actually a fragile set of illegally acquired Wendigo eggs that had blown up on her just as they were about to store it in the guy’s vault. 

“I hope that fool was caught and arrested.” Hermione’s bedside manners had taken a nosedive, but that was to be expected since she was in the midst of force feeding Fleur hospital grade _pepperup potions_ while she simultaneously casted several extra strength _warming charms_ on the half frozen blonde. 

“Oh, I hit him with a stinging hex to the balls before my wand arm fully froze over. He went down quickly.” 

By the time that Fleur had ended up in the emergency ward _again_ , this time with the structural remains of what was once a cursed coat rack embedded _through_ her arm, the cursebreaker was convinced that whoever came up with that statistic was an idiot who couldn’t even do basic arithmetic - nevermind arithmancy!

Hermione apparently agreed, either that or she wasn’t quite sure which part of the infernal looking furniture piece to try and chop away first. The healer grimaced and started to hack away at the foreign item embedded in the blonde’s arm with a few well placed slicing hexes.

“You know, I’m starting to think that you don’t actually want to take me out for coffee.”

Fleur actually looked aghast at that accusation.

“What?! Of course I do!”

The exasperated woman gave her repeat patient a rueful look before she pointedly looked at the hallway piece that went clean through her arm.

“I don’t know when invitations for caffeine became a euphemism for _‘graphically obscene injuries’_ but I can tell you right now - I’m not enthused.” 

A few minutes later, the last of the odd coat rack had been removed from her person and the gaping hole in her arm had been artfully closed. It was as Hermione was inspecting the limb that Fleur decided to sheepishly claim that there was no way she could possibly be injured at work anytime soon.

“And why is that?” The healer actually gave the part-Veela a look that screamed “ _I_ _don’t believe you!”_

“Because I’ve been forced to go on a week long sabbatical because of all the accidents. The goblins are actually so terrified of how accident prone I seem to be right now that they’re willing to pay for a brief holiday.” Which was saying something because usually not even the fear of _human resources_ could get the prickly race of beings to agree to an expenditure like _employee benefits_. At least, not without it being a much begrudged action. 

Hermione just threw her hands up in the air and looked to the ceiling like there was some invisible being she had to rant to. 

“Fine! Owl me the details. Maybe if I’m with you, then I can help ward off whatever odd mythological trickster you managed to accidentally piss off.”

If she wasn’t still sore from her previous impalement, Fleur would have patted herself on the back. 

_‘Ha! I’m not dead_ and _I got a date with the healer. Who said dating in your 30’s was hard?’_

As if the aforementioned healer could hear the _barely_ 30 year old’s smug thoughts, Hermione did an extra hard tug on the bandages for Fleur’s arm. The indignant yelp that followed was heard by everyone in the emergency ward. 

-oOo-

Two days later and Fleur had not landed herself in the hospital since her previous impalement. The only thing remotely wrong with her was the kaleidoscope of butterflies that had decided to make permanent residence within her stomach. The part-Veela desperately hoped that it was just an abundance of nerves that had taken hold of her, and not an actual collection of winged insects that had somehow managed to burrow their way into her lower intestines.

At the rate that she was going and if that had somehow happened, Hermione would likely have quarantined the blonde in the permanent spell damage ward for some odd undetectable curse of frequent misfortune. 

The two had agreed to a quaint little cafe over in muggle London; it was an extra precaution that allowed them to meet nearby but still be reasonably far away enough from Gringotts bank. This place was actually rather close to Fleur’s flat so it was no surprise that she had turned up first. She was a whole half hour early, and now that she was suddenly alone with only her anxieties to keep her company the early arrival seemed like a bit of a mistake. 

Most people assumed that since she had _Veelan_ ancestry that things like ‘dating’ and ‘love’ were easy for her. No, she was good at sassy one-liners but this was different. There was the misconception that all it took was a simple snap of her fingers and suddenly the person she wanted was under her thrall and it was smooth sailing from there. But that wasn’t true at all. If her creature lineage gave her anything, it was an unadulterated confidence in how she looked. Even without the provided _thrall,_ genetics literally guaranteed that Fleur was a ten out of ten and she knew it. 

What it _didn’t_ supply was an unrealistic instinctive guide on how to interpret and maneuver every social hoop and obstacle in regards to _relationships_. The French witch didn’t automatically know how to parse the superficial assholes from the legitimate sweethearts. There was no internal alarm that sounded every time she approached a social pitfall or trap. And there wasn’t a mental teleprompter that told her the best possible thing to say to someone on any given occasion. 

Like everyone else, Fleur had to learn from observation, trial, and error. And contrary to popular belief, the blonde was actually rather _bad_ at this type of social navigation. Part of the reason was because of her damnable _thrall_ \- ninety percent of the population had a tendency to be susceptible to it. It either turned someone into a drooling mess or an envious cow. Which one was entirely dependent on whether or not that person had an inclination towards women; sometimes it was even some mix of both. Most of the people in either of these two camps were often ignored until they either ignored her in return or they had somehow learned to snap out of whatever mood the _thrall_ had coaxed them into. 

It was the last ten percent that Fleur had any real issue with. The ones that fell in _this_ category had the strength of self to brush off the artificial feelings often induced by the ambient _Veelan magic_. The main problem was that they were either big headed, ego-ridden fools that were far too full of themselves or they were the rare diamonds in society that were self aware enough of their faults and were also genuinely good people. 

Fleur could count the number of people she had met in her life that fit the latter’s description on two hands. And of those that were around her age? She was lucky that she had fingers to count at all. 

Unsurprisingly, Hermione was one of those fingers. It was why they had gotten acquainted at all during that year at Hogwarts. In that foreign sea of drool and spiteful teenaged envy, the bookworm was like an island of calm that had helped the blonde stave off the fatigue of being in a new environment in the midst of a dangerous tournament. Back then, the two year difference was all it took for Fleur to not consider the younger witch in a romantic light.

Now more than a decade later and the brilliant _woman_ sent Fleur down a spiral of anxiety and uncontrolled nerves that were better suited to a teenager on their first date than a woman of barely thirty. 

“Sorry! Had I known you would be here so early I wouldn’t have dilly-dallied at home for as long.” 

The blonde blinked herself away from the internal beatdown of her self-confidence and glanced at the clock that was right behind the witch that had just arrived. Twenty minutes had passed since she had originally sat down. 

“It’s fine. I had only arrived a few minutes ago myself.” Fleur schooled her expression in an attempt to hide just how frazzled she actually felt. Though the surprise arrival of a plate of pastries and two deliciously aromatic mugs of freshly brewed coffee interrupted her attempt at deception.

“She lies, this girl had torn up an entire dispenser filled with my napkins while she stared into space. I’m assuming you’re the one that’s got her so nervous?” The surprise entrance by the well-dressed gentleman in the slate grey waistcoat was enough to throw Fleur for a loop.

“Jack?! _Oh mon dieu,_ I didn’t know you were in today!” It was rare that the French woman got to exercise her native greeting while in the UK, but she always made an exception for Jack. As she got up to exchange the traditional three cheek kisses (she was from the south of France, _three_ would always be traditional damn it!) Hermione amusedly watched on from her perch on the other side of the table. 

“I take it you two know each other?”

Fleur smiled, nerves temporarily forgotten as she gestured to the handsome figure beside her.

“This is Jack Arsenault. He’s the owner of this cafe and one of the best baristas I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.” Hermione raised an eyebrow at the other french immigrant. 

“Well, that certainly explains why the place is called _‘The Smoking Gun.’_ ” The man laughed in such a way that his time weathered face creased into some well established lines. From the salt and pepper hair and the handsome cut of his jaw, it was no wonder that even in his late fifties the man had a certain quality that made a few of the other occupants of the shop stop and stare. 

“It was more than thirty years ago, I had thought I was being quite clever when I named this place. Now I just get an eye roll from the smart ones.” He winked at Hermione and that elicited a good natured laugh out of her. “Now I can tell a bid for a ladies’ heart when I see one. Consider this first serving a tasteful icebreaker and let me know if you need anything else.” 

He walked off to attend to other patrons and Fleur could only shake her head in amazement.

“I can’t believe we were lucky enough to be here while he was in. I come here pretty often but I only ever see him a few times a year.” 

“I take it that he’s not often home?”

Fleur shook her head in return as she greedily eyed the fresh cup in front of her.

“No, he takes frequent trips in search of quality coffee and espresso beans. Jack is a bit obsessed with coffee, claims it’s his one true love in life but…” The French witch reverently picked up her drink and made a point to take a deep sniff of the rich aroma that emanated from it. “The man certainly knows how to brew. He’s practically a _wizard_ with a syphon and a French press.” 

Hermione shot an admonishing look at the blonde for her borderline illegal quip in the middle of a muggle cafe, but eventually gave in and indulged in her own cup. 

Whether or not Jack was a wizard or simply an absolute genius at his craft was up for debate, but it was without any doubt that the artfully brewed light roast did its job as intended. With the _‘tasteful icebreaker’_ being enjoyed by both parties, it was evident that whatever nerves Fleur had built up prior to this date had dissipated in the face of rich earthy tones, a surprising hint of stone fruit, and a consistency that encouraged a smooth trip down one’s gullet. 

The conversation flowed between the two as easily as the rich flavors that danced upon their taste buds. The topics always varied, and it didn’t quite matter that they often segued to the oddest of subjects or that sometimes a debate got cut short in favor of a new train of thought. Windows positioned at key points within the cafe allowed for an unobtrusive smattering of dappled sunlight across their table, and the cursebreaker could almost pretend that it was a trail of gold that led to waves of chestnut locks. A few hours of brilliant company and good conversation was well worth the later ache caused by a stomach full of only coffee and idly eaten pastries. At least, Fleur thought so. 

As they both packed to go about their separate ways, the blonde tentatively offered the bag filled with their leftover _pain au chocolat_. 

“I had fun.” The unspoken question trailed behind her words like the scent of petrichor after a long awaited rainstorm, but it was clear to both women nonetheless. 

_Want to do this again?_

With the same thoughtful grace, Hermione plucked the paper to-go bag from her companion’s lithe hands. There was a touch of hesitance in those brown orbs, and for a moment Fleur’s heart seized in panic. But her worry was for nothing as the hitch in her eyes smoothed out to some sort of quiet acceptance. Of what, the blonde wasn’t quite sure.

“I wouldn’t mind doing this again.” Apparently the glee was palpable on her end, because the brunette raised both an eyebrow and a pointer finger in return. “But! I do _not_ want to see you in the hospital again Fleur, I mean it!”

The witch in question laughed and grabbed Hermione’s small hands and the bag of pastries both.

“I promise, I’ll be more careful.” Fleur lightly brushed her lips over the other woman’s knuckles. “Anything for you, _mon ange."_

The flush that stained Hermione’s olive cheeks was a sight that nearly left the blonde breathless and blinded her to the point that she saw bright speckled spots across her eyes. At least, that’s what she told Jack when he found her standing in the same spot long after the healer had left for her shift. 

The old Frenchman just rolled his eyes good naturedly and told her not to screw it up.

_‘Not if I can help it!’_

-oOo-

The two witches exchanged owls often, and careful probing allowed for Fleur to find the healer’s free moments away from the hospital. This often led to more meetups, sometimes at _‘The Smoking Gun’_ or other times quick trips to both muggle and wizarding bookstores. There were even days where a stroll through a nearby park seemed like the perfect thing to do. 

Like the first time, conversation freely flowed between them. For the part-Veela, it was nice to know that she could talk _to_ someone and they’d actually listen and adequately _talk back_. Fleur was proud of her heritage, but there were only so many drool ridden fools that she could stand. And after the first time when they ensured that Fleur wasn’t going to spontaneously combust at the first mention of work, they talked about that too. Hermione was certainly not a professional cursebreaker by any means, but the witch was still as enamoured with magic as she was when she first was told it was real when she was eleven. The brunette’s out of the box perspective provided new eyes for several concepts that Fleur _thought_ she knew inside and out. To be taught something new was both humbling and a delight for the blonde.

Oddly enough, the healer wasn’t as forthcoming with her own profession. Or at least, they never really got the chance to explore it as thoroughly as the cursebreaker’s own. Whenever Fleur had brought it up, something _always_ happened to interrupt their conversation and the natural flow would never seem to come back to it. The most that the blonde had managed to get out of the other woman was that she was a “specialist” at the hospital. But then that brought up the question - just what was a “specialist” doing in the emergency ward at St. Mungo’s? 

Fleur had gotten a headache when she tried to think about it, and so often left the query be. At least for now; she was sure that with how often they met up the brunette would eventually tell her. 

And even after the cursebreaker’s imposed sabbatical had come to an end, the two had continued their various lunch dates. Whatever odd string of misfortune had latched onto the part-Veela at work had finally subsided and things had calmed down to the point where it was actually quite tame by comparison. 

It could even be considered boring. No matter what she was assigned or who she worked with, it all seemed to blend together. The cursebreaker could barely recall any worthwhile details to tell Hermione during their meetups. 

Not that Fleur _wanted_ to be maimed on a routine basis, she still had that promise she made to the healer to think about. But years within her field had taught her that her gut, even more than her wand, was her greatest tool. And for the last few weeks, her gut had been quite adamant that something was off. But for the life of her, Fleur could not figure out just what was wrong. 

So here she was, back in the depths of Gringotts' vast tunnel network with another group of mundane new trainees and a paranoia better suited to the aurors on a raid than a routine ward check. 

“Ma’am?” Fleur was lucky that she had only jumped in surprise and hadn’t leveled her wand at the lad. As it was, he and the other two barely-out-of-Hogwarts members of his training group stared at her with slightly alarmed eyes and postures that screamed _‘run, she’s trigger happy!’_ A quick glance at the familiar piece of rosewood in her hand revealed that it was sparking in line with her agitation. 

“ _What?”_ While she had leveled her query at _Alex-Andrew-_ something or another with an _A_ , the on edge part-Veela witnessed as all three flinched at her sharp tone. Fleur winced in turn, it wasn’t their fault that the feeling of ‘ _not quite right’_ had finally compounded enough that it had started to impact her sleep schedule. On top of her stress induced insomnia, she had also been saddled with another group of trainees that she was in no mood to babysit. The blonde sighed, took a moment as she tried to rub away the pent up pressure and annoyance through the bridge of her nose, and then tried again. “Sorry, what did you need?”

Fleur attempted to sound as patient as possible. It had apparently worked because _Betty_ or was it _Bronwen?_ Whatever her name was, she had popped her head out from behind her hiding place behind the first kid and asked, “We were wondering how we would know that we were close to any cracks in the ward?”

The seasoned cursebreaker huffed but lifted her wand and pointed it at the ceiling in demonstration. “You use a low density spell to bounce against the outer wards. But the specific one _we_ use will also highlight any cracks in the runic and arithmantic placements. Now pay attention! This is easy but the incantation is in arabic so repeat after me…” 

After a few successful tries, she sent the greenhorns on ahead so she could think in peace. The first two kids were reasonably careful as they tested their newly acquired spell, but the third was far too energetic for her tastes. Not that she could remember his name either. With her luck, it started with a _C_. How in _Morgana_ and _Mnemosyne’s_ name did she forget all three of their names? Fleur honestly remembered that they had told her, she just… couldn’t recall the exact details of the introduction.

Like the rest of her recent experiences at work, the teens were dull and painfully forgettable. She was half-tempted to head over to St. Mungo’s and have herself checked for some low grade memory hexes, though she was worried that Hermione would take offense at the implication that she might’ve missed something the first few times. That and there was the promise that Fleur had made the irate healer; though a simple checkup was nothing compared to a full blown visit to the emergency ward, right?

“Miss Delacour, we found something!” 

Fleur cursed her stray thoughts as she realized that the trio of trainees had gotten far enough away from her that she had lost sight of them. She rounded the bend, a bored inquiry ready on the tip of her tongue but was dropped and unused at the sight before her. 

The spell she had briefly taught the three had been a simple, yet frequently used tool in the arsenals of numerous cursebreakers and tomb raiders over the last few centuries. When one casted it, a low density wave of unpolarized magical energy was sent out from the wand tip and would bounce off of any wards in range. It was particularly useful because it also tended to highlight any cracks or faults in whatever wards it had managed to hit. Fleur used the spell so often in her line of work that the bright blue lights it caused whenever it found something amiss were nothing new for her. 

This was not that. 

What was situated in front of her three trainees wasn’t the usual breaks and cracks that were often found on a routine patrol. This wasn’t a small hairline fracture or even the _slightly_ more severe spider cracks that sometimes occurred if a passageway was overlooked too many times. No, what laid before them were great rends of light carved into the very air of the massive cavern they had chosen to walk through. The bright blue luminous rays that emanated from their jagged forms violently pulsated to an unheard rhythm, as if to remind its captive audience that these were above all else an aberration to _reality itself._

“Miss Delacour, what _is_ this?” Fleur barely registered that the question had come from _maybe-Bethany_. The young woman was elbowed by her compatriot, the _possibly-Archie_ loud in his failed attempt to whisper.

“Well it’s a break in the wards, isn’t it? That’s what the spell was supposed to find.” 

“I’ll give you a galleon if you touch it.” The fool with the likely _C_ name nudged both of his fellows towards the great breaks. 

“Piss off man, you do it!” 

The three bickered good naturedly, though Fleur could only see their backs as they had steadfastly refused to turn away from the bright monstrosity in front of them. She had managed to convince her body to take a tentative step towards the group when the sight of the next moment froze her in place once again. At the sound of her step forward, the group turned as one towards their mentor. When the cursebreaker had met them that morning, there was nothing _notable_ about any of them. They were so uninteresting that their names seemed to slip from her mind every time the blonde tried to think about them. 

Bland, boring, mundane. 

With their silhouettes highlighted by the unnatural blue of the jagged masses behind them, it was as if Fleur had _truly_ seen them for the first time. And it was at that moment that she had realized why nothing about the three greenhorns seemed to stick. 

It was hard to remember features that simply didn’t exist. 

Where their faces should have been instead were broken and jagged flesh colored shapes that better resembled a modern mosaic than any lips or eyes that Fleur had ever seen. If her gut had gone off on her before about just how _not right_ everything seemed, then it outright _screamed_ at her now. The French witch felt the breath that had trapped itself in her throat, unable to escape as the three… _things_ continued to talk and banter with each other like they weren’t some _fae forsaken_ abominations that had decided to play at being human for a moment. So shocked was she that she could only stare in mute horror as the effulgent fissures pulsated faster. It was an effervescent light show that only foreshadowed what was to come. 

It was almost a relief when they finally exploded. 

Fleur had thrown up a shield, but even with that up it could only do so much against the sheer might and force of the resultant blast. The part-Veela was thrown back several feet and had nearly collided with the wall located far behind her original location. She was only saved by the fact that she had been as far away as she was from the massive cracks of light. 

The human shaped flesh things had no such luck. 

The tumultuous wave of energy lashed out of their ethereal confinements and tore through the three, its violence unbiased as it eviscerated the unfortunate pretenders. Rock and rubble broke free of the cavern walls and the displacement sent a rush of detritus into the air that obscured everything from view. It was only after the sounds of destruction had died down that the prone witch dared to lower the dense shield spell that had saved her from the brunt of the explosion. After a few moments, the debris and dust had begun to settle and Fleur finally got a good look at the aftermath. 

The lack of blood should have been a relief to her frazzled nerves. Instead the sight of amputated limbs and disjointed body parts sent a wave of nausea through her system that took her a few more moments (or was it minutes? Hours? How long did she stand there amidst the destruction?) to shake off. When Fleur’s vision had righted and vertigo no longer attempted to steal her will to stand, she realized that the various appendages of flesh and cloth had an unnatural glow about them. 

They had begun to deteriorate into gold flecks of light. 

With an almost robotic quality to her movements, the shaken woman walked past the rubble and unnatural remains and towards the source of the previous destruction. The fissures of bright blue were now gone, and in their places was an enormous maw of darkness that hung in the air like a jagged hole hastily made in a large window. As the French witch got closer to the misplaced void, she noted that if she listened hard enough she could hear the faint sound of voices that came from within. 

_“... not stabilized, what…”_

_“Damn it, she lost too much get- …”_

_“... so close, just hang in there Delacour!”_

At the mention of her name, Fleur flinched back. Where were these voices coming from? What was going on?

_‘Where the hell am I?’_

She watched as the breach in reality slowly expanded and familiar gilded flecks ate away at the very air with every inch it gained. Before she knew it, the part-Veela had turned and sprinted away from the sight. Her eyes spared not another glance for the remains of the beings she had unknowingly escorted down these very passageways. 

Underground rock and massive metal vaults eventually gave way to cold marble tiles and unwitting crowds on the surface level. Fleur hadn’t bothered to look at any of her supposed employers or even the other customers that did their business within. 

The blonde had a feeling she knew what she would see if she looked at their faces. Or rather, what was _supposed_ to be their faces.

The anxious woman slammed open the front doors of the bank, her usual care for dignity and grace in appearance was notably absent at that moment. Not that any of the usual crowd in Diagon Alley really cared or noticed. 

Not that any of them were _real_.

Dozens of witches, wizards, and other beings occupied the busy street like any other day in the magical thoroughfare. Had she not paid attention, would Fleur have missed the obvious signs that something was amiss? That there were flesh colored mosaics where facial features should have been. That not even the children were spared their participation in some sick living art exhibit? No one was an exception to this new definition of normal.

Except one.

Brown eyes, delicate lips, and a heart shaped face framed by wild chestnut curls. 

Hermione stood at the base of the stairs in her lime green hospital robes as she stared directly at Fleur with the saddest look in her eyes. It wasn’t long before the blonde had descended down the alabaster steps and by the time she had reached the bottom, she knew. 

“Hermione, you know what’s going on, don’t you?”

The younger woman stepped closer and cupped her hand to her companion’s cheek. It was reminiscent of that first time at Jack’s cafe, all too long ago when small touches and overt flirtations were her biggest concerns. 

“I think it’s time we talked...”

Fleur had nothing to say to that as the brunette gently took her by the hand and led her through the crowd and further into the alley. It was in her peripherals that she could see more of the gold flecks of light as they floated by, their origin obvious as the little specks traveled away from the impressive marble structure she had just exited. Before she could turn her head to get a better look at where they had come from, an insistent squeeze occurred from the hand that pulled at her.

“Don’t look!” Hermione hadn’t turned around, but the blonde could tell that there was an expression of grief on the other woman’s face. “Just… follow me, alright? I’ll explain everything soon.”

With a nod of agreement the two continued their silent journey. Idly Fleur had noted that as they walked further, there were less and less people. By the time that they had arrived at the _Leaky Cauldron_ , there wasn’t a single soul in sight. The normally busy pub was empty of even the ever present Tom the bartender. Hermione quietly led them to a random booth situated somewhere in the middle. The two sat across from each other, and soon the silence that had accompanied them here had begun to sit stagnant between them. The brunette gave a rueful look at their empty surroundings and sent an apologetic smile towards Fleur.

“I’m sorry, it looks like food is off the menu.” 

Fleur shook her head and grabbed the petite hands before her, the familiar calluses that rubbed against her own were enough encouragement for her to move forward.

“Please _mon amie_ , don’t sugar coat this for me. What’s going on?” 

The tepid smile slid from the muggleborn witch’s face and it was replaced by that same sadness that had greeted Fleur just outside of the bank.

“You probably already realized this, but this place… we’re not in the real world right now.”

The facsimile of people outside. The break in reality in the deep caverns of her work place. The ever present golden dust that even now had invaded the edges of her vision. 

“Yes, I… figured as much. Then _where_ are we?”

“Inside your head.” The confusion was probably incredibly evident on her face because Hermione was quick to add, “Sort of! It’s a little bit more complicated than that. But the gist of it is that we’re in your head. Remember that first injury of yours? You didn’t just get a concussion from that. You were hit by a curse.”

The healer grimaced at what seemed to be the memory of the original incident. 

“It was a nasty bit of work. Some Romanian curse that ate at your spinal column and then at your brain.” 

Fleur matched the healer’s grimace at that. Nasty indeed. 

“Well, I’m not brain dead I think. So you managed to stop it, right?” The blonde sighed in relief when she saw the nod from the healer, though there was some hesitance in the action.

“Yes, sort of. I managed to stabilize you and get you to St. Mungo’s before it could begin to do any permanent damage. There’s a whole team helping you get through this right now. But the mind is a delicate thing, Fleur. While we worked to save your nervous system, we needed a way to protect and preserve your _mind_ from the curse.” 

Hermione gestured to what was apparently an exact replica of the _Leaky Cauldron_. “This was quite the project, but I managed to get it to the point where your slightly addled mind couldn’t tell that you were in a metaphorical bubble.” 

The pieces clicked into place and Fleur narrowed her eyes at the woman before her.

“Your specialty?”

“Mental Magicks. I’m a Healer of the Mind, Fleur.” 

The blonde deflated a little at that. In spite of the fact that she had apparently just been through a near death situation, or that she had survived due to what seemed to be a medical marvel of extraordinary proportions, Fleur was upset. 

“So everything we’ve been through, all those talks, the dates I took you on…? None of this was real?” She didn’t bother to conceal the hurt in her voice. For all her genetically bestowed beauty, Fleur was never quite the social butterfly. The circumstances of the part-Veela’s life hadn’t really allowed for her to have a sizable crowd of people to surround herself with. 

But when she found someone she genuinely liked whose company she thoroughly enjoyed? Fleur clung to them with all her might. Which made moments like these feel all the more terrible. Before she could wallow in her thoughts, the blonde felt the briefest of squeezes against her palms. She had forgotten that she had long absconded with the healer’s hands only minutes before. The unwitting patient looked up and realized that there was a blush on olive-toned skin. 

“I… wouldn’t say that _all_ of it was fake. Fleur, my job was to keep you safe. All I had to do was keep an eye on you and make sure that you didn’t realize what was going on sooner.” Hermione gave the mournful woman a tentative smile. “I didn’t have to agree to romantic walks in the park. Hours spent in a muggle cafe debating over transient spell logic wasn’t a part of the plan. I couldn’t actually taste the coffee, but the company was real enough. I promise you this.”

“So… it wasn’t all for show?”

“Not all of it, no.” 

“Then if I ask, what are my chances that you’ll agree to dinner with me? As maybe more than friends saving another friend’s life?” It was meant to sound like a joke, but the hope Fleur conveyed was more than palpable. 

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?” Fleur couldn’t quite take the admonishment seriously, not when she saw the smile that peeked through the playful glare. “How’s this, you wake up and I’ll agree to the next thing you ask me.”

“Deal!” The part-Veela couldn’t quite contain her happiness. She had a chance! All Fleur had to do was make sure that she didn’t end up brain dead as a result of some violent curse. Easy enough, right? 

It was only when a nearby stein glass fiercely imploded into a shower of gilded lights that she was reminded that there was something _else_ wrong. 

“Wait, you said that you had managed to stop the curse. Why in _Morgane’s_ name is everything…” The worried witch frantically waved at an ash tray that suddenly decided that it no longer wanted to exist in this world. Hermione gave the frazzled blonde a sheepish look.

“We did! Well, _almost_. We’re _just_ getting rid of the last traces of the curse in your body. Unfortunately, you managed to break through one of the fundamental building blocks of the ritual I used when you figured out that this place wasn’t real. That was far earlier than I had anticipated. When the _confundus_ element was overcome, the rest of the spell broke down with it.” More fixtures within the replica pub had begun to succumb to the same blinding treatment. It was honestly getting hard to see with the air so thick with what amounted to magical glitter. Fleur opened her mouth to ask the brunette to expound further but stopped when she noticed that Hermione’s form had begun to glow and emit the same particles as everything else.

“Wait Hermione, where are you going? What’s happening to you?!” The blonde attempted to tighten her grip on the hands tightly grasped with her own, but was surprised when those too scattered into a million luminescent pieces. 

“Relax Fleur, it’s just a natural side effect of the ritual’s deterioration. Now that you’re aware, I can’t stay here anymore.” The sight of the healer so relaxed yet with parts of her body gone or on its way was more than distressful. The French witch wanted to launch herself at the muggleborn, but was afraid that her attempts to keep Hermione here would expedite the process. “Don’t worry about me, _I’ll_ be fine. What I need _you_ to do is more important.” 

Fleur forced her panic down and instead focused on the healer’s steady voice. A feat in and of itself when one considered that three quarters of the brunette’s body had already shattered into free floating lights. 

“The curse is nearly gone, but there’s still a chance that you… might not wake up from this. Whatever you do, don’t stop fighting alright? I need you to-...” Whatever Hermione had meant to say had gotten cut off when the rest of her head faded from existence. The one left behind could only stare as the remainder of what was once her companion’s form drifted into the sea of gold around her. It was only when the very table in front of her broke apart as well that Fleur had noticed that she was virtually only left with the scuffed wooden floor and the very bench she had sat on. 

“ _Fuck.”_

It wasn’t often that the immigrant adopted an expletive from her new home. But it also wasn’t often that one _literally_ had the floor ripped away from them, only to be dumped in a river of glitter and stars. One would think that the first inclination should have been to try to swim _up_ , out of the current that blinded her from every direction. Unfortunately, the feeling she got from her surroundings was more like being forcibly floated in midair while being simultaneously battered by millions of bees than a dip in the English channel. Fleur spent several frantic moments in a failed attempt to escape, or even to just _move_ but found herself stuck. 

The lack of progress should have left her panicked. Instead, the woman only felt a level of quiet disconnection as she waded in the nothing sea of halcyon stars. 

Minutes, moments, and magnitudes of unaccounted time quietly elapsed, but Fleur wasn’t worried.

She only had to wait. 

_‘Fleur…’_

There! With a surprising amount of strength that she barely acknowledged, Fleur had sundered herself from the invisible hand that had held her previously hostage. 

_‘... you can do it, please Fleur…’_

Where earlier attempts led her nowhere, determined strokes now swam for a surface unseen.

_‘... come back to me.’_

-oOo-

The operating room was filled to the brim with healers, nurses, and specialists. Six hours of force fed potions, obscure rituals, and emergency spellwork left many of the occupants haggard and tired but that did little to dampen the cacophony of noise that seemed so evident. 

Fleur’s deep seated gasp as she woke up cut through the clamor like it was nothing. 

The blonde brushed off the weakness she felt in her limbs. She paid no attention to the nurses that attempted to push her back down on the bed. She even ignored the various healers that tried to check her diagnostics, both with magic and through oral questions. 

Fleur only had eyes for the singular healer whose own orbs seemed to well with tears at the sight of the blonde alive and awake. Hermione stood to her right and close to where her head previously had laid upon the operating table. It was clear by the sweat that still drenched her brow that the mind specialist had been hard at work until literally just moments before. 

“Fleur! I’m so glad that- _mmph!_ ” 

The part-Veela’s present fragility was _also_ ignored as the patient kissed the living daylights out of her favorite healer. Fleur swore that the very lights in the room _flickered_ due to the intensity of the action. The passion showed no signs of subsiding, but the need for air became evident when both their sets of lungs screamed for submission. When the two finally separated, the flush across Hermione’s cheeks was so deep that the French woman knew for a fact that it hadn’t _just_ been because of a need to breathe. 

Which was a wonderful last sight to see before the newly recovered patient’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and she blacked out again.

  
“ _God damn it,_ Fleur!”


	2. Tsukuyomi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A healer in the aftermath contemplates the ramifications of her actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tag note: Brief mention of Alzheimer's Disease in this chapter.

When Hermione was five years old and her parents had asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, the young girl had gleefully answered that she would be a doctor. Her mother had pat her on the head and her father had told her to work hard if she wanted to make that wish come true. The family had then gone out for a rare treat of ice cream that day and life went on. The question hadn’t been a serious one, the girl was only five after all. Little Hermione only knew that doctors helped people, and wasn’t that such a nice thing to do?

A few years later, a short time after the revelation that magic was real and that a whole new world was available to their daughter, the Grangers thought that all talks of _muggle_ medicine would be forgotten and that their little muggleborn witch would go on to more extraordinary things. 

And then David Granger at 42 was diagnosed with Early-Onset Alzheimer’s Disease. 

At 13, the news was devastating for Hermione. Her father was one of the most brilliant individuals that she had ever had the pleasure to know. This was the man who had taught his _three year old_ how to read. Who had never dumbed down concepts in spite of her age or turned her questions away. David encouraged and cultivated a love for knowledge itself in his daughter, and was always her greatest supporter - even in a fantastical world that he couldn’t follow her into. 

So in her anguish, Hermione had done the most natural thing she thought to do. 

She researched. 

Biology textbooks, periodicals in Psychology, medical journals… The list went on and on. The stack of books on just the disease that plagued her father was enough to warrant four shelves alone in her considerable personal library. It didn’t matter that they already had several medical professionals that they were consulting with, the child had embarked on a near fervent need to read anything and everything that even tangentially touched on the elder Granger’s illness. It was almost as if she read _enough_ of the subject, then maybe the disease would go away… 

Not that anything ever seemed like it was enough. And when Hermione felt she had run out of things to read in muggle medicine, she frantically turned to the magical world. Surely wizards and witches have made unfathomable advancements in comparison to their mundane counterparts?

Hermione was left disappointed when Madame Pomphrey later informed her at the start of her third year that in terms of mental health, the magical community was woefully stagnant. Diseases like Alzheimer’s required long studies and a patience that most Wizards lacked. For a group of people so spoiled with instantaneous remedies like _skelegro_ and _episkey_ , they were often stumped by anything that required long term solutions. There were a few individuals that attempted to advance the field of _mind healing_ but they were few and far between. 

And that was unacceptable to Hermione. 

So the brunette studied and worked with a single minded determination that astounded even the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. She exuded a desperation for knowledge and perfection that cowed even the most envious of her Ravenclaw rivals. And as she graduated, top of her class and with the highest NEWT scores seen since Albus Dumbledore himself, she stood tall with the grace of a lioness in her robes decorated in red and gold. 

She was offered numerous job offers in both the private and public sectors, but Hermione ignored them all and entered directly into St. Mungo’s training program for Healers. She fast tracked her progress and graduated in three years instead of four. Then the ambitious woman went to Belgium for her residency at a Wizarding Hospital, all because it had one of the few programs in the world dedicated to the research of mind healing. And the brunette didn’t stop there. Even after she had become a licensed healer, Hermione had frequently corresponded with anyone and everyone who even so much as _dabbled_ in the curative arts for the mind. She aided in research projects, contributed to new advancements in rituals and spells that became standard tools for the burgeoning field, and spoke often of the importance of mental health and how it affected even the almighty witches and wizards of the magical world. 

More than a decade and a half after her father’s diagnosis, Hermione had become one of the world’s foremost experts in magical medicine of the mind. It wasn’t an exaggeration for her to say that she was one the most respected Healers at St. Mungo’s, especially after they had outright _begged_ her to come back to England and head up their new department dedicated to her specialty. 

So the fact that the Chief Healer of St. Mungo’s hospital had sent her a missive to _‘meet him in his office posthaste’_ had thrown Hermione into a spiral of anxious worry.

Was this about the emergency operation several days ago? 

_‘Oh god, this is probably about that damned operation. I am such an idiot!’_ Hermione _really_ wanted to bash her head against the wall, but since she was in the middle of a busy hallway filled with staff and patients she simply refrained and continued her long trek to her boss’ office. Of all the procedures that had ever involved her, that last one certainly got the award for the one that rattled her the most. 

The operation to save one Fleur Delacour. 

It had happened so fast, one moment they had been talking in the hallway at Gringotts and the next thing she knew she had used her emergency portkey to get the unconscious blonde to the hospital. They had _just_ been fast enough to save her from any permanent damage from the curse, but it still took another six hours to unravel and remove the dark spellwork that had taken hold of the cursebreaker’s magical core. In that time it attempted to eat away at the French witch’s nervous system, but the combined efforts of five different Healers managed to prevent the magicks from doing so. 

So the curse attempted to go straight for Fleur’s mind instead. 

Not that Hermione let it, not without a fight at least. The moment they had realized what the curse had set out to do, Hermione was immediately tasked with the defense of Fleur’s mental faculties. This meant that not only did she have to heal any damage done to the blonde’s mind, but she also needed to keep the French witch calm and unaware of their efforts during the length of the operation. 

What the healer hadn’t expected was to fall for Fleur Delacour in the process of doing so. 

The ritual she had chosen to use was a reverse engineered and reappropriated illusion spell that originated in Japan. A powerful magick named after a shinto moon goddess, it forced the intended target and its caster into an illusory world that for all intents and purposes _felt_ and _looked_ real. The initiator of the spell had full control of everything from the exact environment to the very passage of time. The witch had used a spell originally intended to interrogate and torture victims into insanity, and she instead had used it to put the cursebreaker’s mind in a metaphorical bubble where the healer could easily keep an eye on her. 

At least, that was the original plan. Instead Hermione accidentally ended up on the ultimate speed dating experience. Seriously, was Fleur a masochist or something? Because every time the blonde got ‘hurt’ in her mindscape she just flirted _more_ . And somewhere along the way, it _worked_. 

Which was surprising because the part-Veela was a bit of a disaster. Hermione was fairly certain that one wasn’t supposed to throw cheesy pickup lines at their healer while half frozen or impaled by previously animated 17th century furniture pieces. The Romanian curse that had attacked the French witch manifested in weird ways within the mindscape, but thankfully the cursebreaker was a resilient one. And when they had managed to subdue most of it, Hermione was supposed to fall back and observe as the other woman lived her “life” while blissfully unaware of the precarious position she had unwittingly enacted on herself. 

Instead, Hermione spent hours within the mindscape in debates over magical theory and history. She traded jokes and shared company over food and drink that she herself couldn’t actually taste. The two went on long walks together to enjoy sunsets that the healer had meticulously recreated from memory. After only six hours in the operating room, Hermione Granger had fallen for the brilliant and beautiful disaster that was Fleur Delacour. 

And she felt guilty as hell about it. 

After the curse had been dispelled and Hermione had been left in the aftermath of her first breathtaking kiss in the real world with the blonde, the realizations crashed down on her so hard that she was surprised that she had stayed on her feet the whole time. 

She had French kissed her patient in full view of over a dozen other staff members and colleagues.

She had crossed the line and had taken advantage of Fleur’s isolated state within the ritual.

She had _fallen in love with her patient_.

The spiral of guilt only went _on_ and _on_ from there. Hermione had been so ashamed of her actions that she had outright avoided the blonde in the days since the operation. 

And now someone was finally going to call her out on it. 

By the time that she had reached her destination, the healer had already crumpled and gripped the edges of her scrubs —why they all insisted on calling everything ‘ _robes’_ was beyond her— into a wrinkled mess. Before she knew it, her knuckles had already brushed against the weathered mahogany door and the booming voice of her boss had echoed from within.

_“Enter!_ ” 

Hermione half expected fire and brimstone when she had pulled open that door. So it was a smidge of a disappointment to find the office as calm and organized as always. Not that Thaddeus Hornbeam was the type for overt emotional displays, he was a good natured and even tempered individual that led St. Mungo’s well and Hermione respected him for that. And at the moment he looked… like he _wasn’t_ about to fire her? That was a good sign, right?

“You wanted to see me, sir?” 

“Ah, Healer Granger! Come in, come in!” Her boss put down the paperwork he had been in the midst of and turned his attention to his youngest department head. Over the gleam of his spectacles he could spot the way the young woman fidgeted at his inquiring glance. “To be honest, I should have had this talk with you quite a while ago. But you were making such amazing progress with your research that I may have taken too much of blind eye to what has transpired in my hospital as of late…” 

“Healer Hornbeam, I know that my behaviour lately has been unacceptable. Really, I don’t know what’s come over me. If you can give me another chance, I swear to you that I can make this right!” The apology that streamed out of her came out so fast that Hermione was surprised that he was able to keep up with it at all. 

“Well, I’m certainly glad you’re taking this seriously. I know you’re young, but the repercussions for your actions can get quite dire if you let it get too out of hand.”

“Absolutely, I understand entirely. To make up for it I’ll be sure to push my deadlines forward for the seminar. I’m fairly certain that I can manage to write two more articles in time for the next medical journal coming up -” The elder gentleman quietly raised a hand to stop the frantic healer in her tracks as he raised an eyebrow at her.

“It seems to me that we’re not quite talking about the same thing here.” At Hermione’s confusion, Healer Hornbeam went into a drawer in his desk and pulled out a manila envelope. “I’m not quite sure what you’re on about, but _I’m_ talking about your deplorable _work-life_ balance. You do fantastic work, but one must really take a break every once in a while.”

“Sir, I’m… I’m not quite understanding what you’re talking about.” 

Were they not here to talk about her recent inappropriate fraternization with a patient? Her boss waved the manila envelope in front of him and gestured for her to take it.

“Oh, you see Healer Granger, _I’m_ talking about the fact that you work so much that the French Ministry’s owl apparently mistook St. Mungo’s as your home when it delivered its mail earlier. I’m glad you’re enthusiastic, but you must really consider the repercussions for working yourself so hard. You won’t enjoy the burnout, I promise you that.” 

Hermione blinked and took the envelope. The actual paper it was made of was quite robust, and even without her wand to examine it she could tell that it and its contents were protected by magic. With careful fingers she unsealed the package and reached inside. At first touch she could feel a singular sheet within, though it was thick and made with a rather official type of parchment. With a shrug, the healer pulled the contents out and glanced at it - ever mindful of her audience. 

Which was good because it took that mindfulness and some nerves of steel to not slam the offending object back into its manila confines. Instead, Hermione stared at the ivory colored page with wide and panicked eyes that for possibly the first time had no idea how to comprehend the words on the sheet before her. With a laughable reading speed of about ten words an hour, the frazzled brunette took in the impossible.

The words ‘ _Marriage Certificate’_ were written at the very top of the page in a beautiful calligraphy typeset that made it all the more official. And the names below it? One glance at the two names together and something within her _snapped._

Before she knew it, Hermione was already sprinting out of Healer Hornbeam’s office. The various nurses and healers who cried out in surprise and admonishment were ignored as she flew passed. The innocent bystanders she nearly collided with were offered the bare minimum of apologies. And the normally well kept professional traveled towards her intended destination like a bat out of hell. Like a heat seeking missile, the frantic witch flew with a single minded determination until a certain door came into view. In an impressive display of wandless magic, Hermione threw the door open and marched into the room as hell and fury openly danced on her tongue.

“Fleur Isabelle Delacour-!” 

Only to come face to face with a room full of perplexed blondes. Her right hand was frozen in the air from where she had been waving the official document in the air. The furious witch’s momentary haze of tunnel vision faded away as the various Delacour clan members glanced at the healer with clear looks of bafflement.

“Hermione?” The aforementioned woman’s attention snapped to the familiar voice that called her name. There on the bed, dressed in the standard patient attire and the obvious visage of someone who was still in the midst of recovery was Fleur Delacour. The normally quick witted brunette attempted to push words passed her lips, and failed spectacularly. This probably had something to do with the fact that somehow even with her barely washed hair and the exhaustion that lined her face, Fleur still managed to look like a runway model ready for the latest magazine spread. As she looked further into those effervescent blue orbs, Hermione felt the anger bleed out of her. And without the blind fury that had previously fueled her, the healer was at a bit of a loss. How did she proceed from here?

Little did the lost woman know, she would get a little bit of help in this regard. From her place just inside the open doorway, Hermione was in full view of the occupants of the room. Though scattered about they all were, only one got a good look at the piece of ivory paper clenched in the Healer’s hand. 

“Healer Granger?” The brunette flinched out of the accidental staring contest she had entered with the recovering part-Veela before she looked at the woman closest to her. Even if Hermione hadn’t known Fleur prior to this moment, she would’ve easily made the guess that this aged up carbon copy of the blonde before her was probably a close relative of some sort. The sharp gleam in the older woman’s eye and the feeling in the muggleborn witch’s gut that told her that she was in _trouble_ somehow led Hermione to the conclusion that this was Fleur’s _mother._

“... yes?” Hermione gulped.

“Why is there a… _Marriage Certificate_ with my daughter’s name on it in your hand?”

Hermione felt the spellwork that protected the paper fight against her fingers as they did their very best to leave a severely crinkled imprint. As Apolline Delacour politely gestured to see the document, the brunette felt a wave of dizziness come over her as she shakily handed it over.

_‘Ah, that would be the anxiety attack.’_

“Honestly?” Hermione felt faint as the words came out quiet and a little breathy. Was she hyperventilating? “That’s what _I’d_ like to know.” 

There, in beautiful enchanted ink— 

_Fleur Isabelle Delacour_

_ & _

_Hermione Jean Delacour-Granger_

As the black spots began to invade her field of view, the muggleborn witch switched her attention back towards the lone patient in the room. There on Fleur’s face was a look that _screamed_ shocked for all the occupants to see. That, Hermione could possibly work with. She could easily question and rail at that look. 

It was the hint of horror and regret that the healer couldn’t face.

So Hermione turned and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, any mention and usage of Alzheimer's Disease in _any_ of its forms is treated with the utmost respect. There will be future references to it made in this fic, especially since it's this Hermione's major driving force behind her career choice. For anyone wondering the state of her father now... well, I think it's best if we wait and see in this respect. I _will_ say that the magic in this universe is capable of many things, but even it has its limits. 
> 
> So... Day 3: Accidental Marriage, anyone? It only took me 'till 2021 to finally put in that entry for Fleurmione Week _2020_. This part of the story was going to be just one chapter, probably as long as the previous one but then I realized that it was going to be stupidly long and the pacing to make it one chapter was going to be horrendous. So in the end, I realized making this a multi-chap will probably be better for the story in the long run. 
> 
> And you know, my sanity.
> 
> Also big thanks to "the_glare_you_see" for as usual reading things over for me and whacking me over the head to let me know I'm over thinking things.
> 
> Any questions, comments, and concerns please shout them out in the comments! Also virtual cookies to anyone who spotted my nerd reference not so subtly hidden in this chapter. Thanks again to everyone who patiently wondered what was going to happen next after the cliff hanger I left you guys on last chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Kamaro0917 and "the_glare_you_see" for reading over this monster of a chapter for me. Not gonna lie, I had no intention to make this first chapter a 10k monster. It kind of just... happened. Oh well, hopefully you folks enjoy it. Part two of this will (hopefully) come out during this week as well. Keep an eye out!
> 
> Also thank you to the wonderful people over at the Fleurmione discord who helped me learn several fun french expletives. I'll put translations for all the ones I used on here later.


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